The 4th Day
We spent three days in Kairos. Not Chronos – normal time, but Kairos – God’s time. In silence, in prayer, in friendship.
We learnt that those three days, we left everything behind, almost like becoming new, and the Fourth Day…was the rest of our lives.
It is finished with Bakura. My heart fights against it with all its might. But I am stronger than my heart. I will sit on it if needs be. Lock it away out of sight where no one shall ever lay hands on it again – man or woman.
It is over. I cried like I was dying. I couldn’t stop. My friends have stayed on the phone with me in shifts. The next taking over after as many hours as the other can spare. My mother too, first yelling at me and then falling into sad silence…because she ultimately understands. And for that I am grateful.
I have shaved my head.
People stare as I go by, but I ignore them. At first I was hesitant, and cut up my black bedsheet and made a hijab. Now I don’t care enough to see them. I was just going through the motions. Getting through the day as fast as possible so I could be with him at night. The only safe place that remains where he cannot hurt me is in my dreams.
I wonder when I will stop seeing his face or reproducing perfectly his voice in my mind, so clear, it seems my ears hear what my mind thinks. What is most comforting though is my chocolate, and my ice cream, and my duvet and my wiser older sisters: Heather Headley and Erykah Badu. Heather sings to me of pain and regret. Erykah sings to me of revenge.
Sometimes I cry uncontrollably, my entire body wracked by the sobs I try to hold back as I cover my face with my hands. I wonder who I am hiding my tears from, but I have never been able to cry in the open. He never saw me cry; just once, he heard me over the phone. The night I was almost raped again. But that night too was his morning and he wanted to sleep more badly than he wanted to protect me. So he told me he didn’t fucking care amidst my sobbing and hung up.
Perhaps it reminded him too much of watching his cousin all over me. The monster. The bites on his face swelled and reddened in the morning for everyone to see. Try to call me a liar now, you bastards. I bit til I drew blood, and I’m delighted. Pleased as punch really. I half wish he hadn’t been pulled off me. Maybe I could have done more damage. If I could have chomped his penis off, I would.
Maybe I’m hiding the tears from God.
I am ashamed. I have every reason to be. Those reasons haunt me now. I hope to leave them behind.
Let me tell you a little story. Not more than half my own invention but it suits our purposes exactly.
‘Cinderella staggered, crawled back from the ball. She knew that tomorrow there would be no foot men, no palace guard come looking for the twin of a lonely glass slipper. Her thighs were bloody though, and semen ran down one leg. Every step was agony, but the fear of the prince and his men drove her forward. On she pressed, away from their jeering faces, cheering each other on as he marked his ownership, claimed booty from a conquest he didn’t fight in. It would take all the lye in her little shack to wash the smell of them off her. Her ball gown was sullied with blood and the Prince’s fresh stains, and seven more from his three friends. Her glass slipper lay somewhere between here and nowhere, and her tiara was thoroughly tangled in her hair.’
I feel drained. My cousin says the cure to getting over a man is to find another man, but she’s wrong. I don’t want another man to put his grubby paws on me. I just want to be left alone. I grew breasts when I was eight, and ever since then, men have wanted to touch them, feel them, and do other things that hurt and scared me.
I’m sick and tired of men. Cinderella is a myth. Happy endings are for stories half finished. Fuck Prince Charming, Bakura was a Dark Knight. In his world, kissing the frog prince might turn you into a frog too, and a Negress is no match for an Arabian Princess. Isn’t that the way it is Bakura? Now let me tell you. If you see this, go! Go to Oman, to your Arab whore. Goodness knows you whore every girl that comes your way. Go to Oman. Because you love her and not me. I’m not asking you to stay anymore. It is over. I thought I couldn’t survive the pain of severance, but you’ll be surprised what you can live through.
And when you come in May, don’t bother sending that ticket. Because I won’t honour your invitation. You said if you’re here or I am wherever you are, we can fuck. But that’s all you can give me. Thanks for wanting me so badly Bakura. Thanks for not being proud enough of me to be honest with everyone about your relationship. I don’t want to be your dirt poor secret anymore. You can keep your sex; I bought a dildo last night, which I’ll happily use along with the viewing pleasure of videos hd and other adult content.